


Sherlock And The Cactus

by fengirl88



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fengirl88/pseuds/fengirl88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a close encounter with a cactus; John has a sleepless night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock And The Cactus

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by kalypso_v, who also betaed it; my thanks to her, and to ginbitch and blooms84 for their comments and suggestions. Thanks also to the crack fairies: blooms84, crocodile_eat_u, ginbitch, thimpressionist and turante.

“Mycroft never used _glue_ ,” Sherlock says.

He stares disapprovingly at the drying coat of Gloy on his hand. They'd had to go to the Early Learning Centre to find it, which isn't helping his mood. Never liked the stuff, even at primary school. He'd eaten some once, in a spirit of experiment, which hadn't been a good idea at all.

“Mycroft wasn't a doctor, last time I looked,” John says, with quite unnecessary sarcasm. “And medical science may have moved on just a bit in the last twenty-five years.”

“Why don't you use tweezers?”

“I told you, we're not doing that unless we have to. The spines could break off under your skin.”

 _Medical science_. Huh. Sherlock grimaces.

“It's no good making faces,” John says. “If you'd been paying attention in the first place –”

“Yes, thank you, that's not helping!” Sherlock snaps.

 

Molly had been sorry afterwards. Well, she'd _said_ she was.

He'd been vaguely aware of the cactus over the last few weeks, but hadn't noticed she kept moving it a little closer to the microscope with each visit. Until today, when he saw the solution to the case staring up at him through the lens and thumped the desk with a yell of triumph...

Sherlock winces. He is _not_ going to buy that woman another cactus. Or a pot plant of any kind. Whatever John says.

 

Some of the spines come off with the repeated layers of dried glue, eventually. But there are still an awful lot of them left. Sherlock looks reproachfully at his hand, and then at John.

John sighs.

“OK,” he says, “we _will_ have to use the tweezers after all. Happy now?”

Sherlock scowls at him.

“Need to soak your hand first, try to loosen them,” John says.

The soaking takes ages, and the business with the tweezers seems to be going on for hours. It's quite painful. Maybe the cactus he'd tried to shake hands with as a child had had fewer or bigger spines. These little ones are needle-sharp and hell to get out, even though John is careful and tender. Sherlock grits his teeth and tries to distract himself by observing the pattern and spread, the number and depth of the spines in different areas.

When the last one is finally removed, John dresses Sherlock's hand.

“Should I give you a lollipop?” he asks.

“Shut up,” Sherlock says.

“Maybe a badge?” John suggests. “I've got one that says _I was brave at the doctor's_.”

“You're only being like this because I'm incapacitated and can't defend myself adequately,” Sherlock complains.

“Huh,” John says. “You wouldn't say that if you knew what I really wanted to do to you.”

Sherlock feels an unexpected stirring of interest.

“Oh bloody hell, look at the time,” John says. “We have _literally_ been up all night with this.”

Outside the sky is getting lighter, the first red streaks of sunrise starting to show. John starts putting the lights off.

“Hardly worth going to bed when I've got to get up again in an hour,” he grumbles.

“Oh, I wouldn't say that,” Sherlock says.

“Thought you were supposed to be incapacitated,” John says.

Sherlock looks at him hopefully and John starts laughing. He puts his arms around Sherlock and kisses him, gently at first, then not so gently.

“Where does _medical science_ stand these days on kissing it better?” Sherlock asks.

“Still doing clinical trials,” John says, deadpan. “Apparently it works like acupuncture, or reflexology.”

“Psychosomatic, then?”

“More a matter of applying pressure to other parts of the body,” John says, giving Sherlock a pinch on the backside that makes him yelp. He kisses Sherlock again.

“Mm,” Sherlock says. “Oh.”

“Working already, is it?” John teases him.

Sherlock can't think of a clever reply, because John's kissing his throat in a way that makes him cling on to him with his good hand.

“Come on then,” John says. “Latest research suggests some patients respond better when they're horizontal.”

 

Trying to keep his bandaged hand out of the way makes getting undressed and what follows a bit complicated. But Sherlock quite enjoys complications. Making love with one hand tied behind your back must be a bit like this, all odd angles and restraint and –

“Stop it,” John says. “Whatever it is you're thinking, I know it's trouble.”

“Can't,” Sherlock says. It's true. He never _can_ stop himself thinking.

John can stop him, though. And he sets about doing just that.

 _Definitely worth it_ , Sherlock thinks, while he still can. _Even the glue_.

It always is.

**Author's Note:**

> It is possible that the glue mentioned here is not the right one for the purpose. Don't try this at home...
> 
> kalypso_v's original request is in the comments to [this entry](http://fengirl88.livejournal.com/31098.html).


End file.
